A Bard's Tale
by Rowen-Bells
Summary: Rowen Cousland was born into a nobility she cared little for, and was forbidden to love the man she wanted. But after her home is attacked and her family mudered, everything changes. Rated M for future content.
1. Chapter 1

_**(A/N)** This is my first fic, so please let me know what you think! The story will follow, for the most part, the basic story line of the game, with a lot of added tid-bits that are not in the game. I will also be changing things around, leaving out stuff I found unecassary . . . like the stupid dog in the larder, lol. I will, from time to time, include some of my favorite dialogue from the game, as you will see, but most of it will be my own. I hope you like it! Constuctive critiquing and reviews are welcome, but please no flaming. _

_Thank you in advance!_

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**Chapter One**

All of my life I had grown up with servants running around, constantly trying to serve me . . . insisting on doing everything for me. I hated it. But it was something I should expect, my mother would tell me, while father just laughed at my stubborn refusal to be served. Often times I would hide in the courtyard, hoping not to be found - especially by Nan, who had an annoying habit of chasing after me. Today I had no such luck.

"Get down here!" Nan yelled up at me. "Proper ladies do not climb trees!"

Pushing my long dark hair out of my eyes, I smiled down at her, knowing that she would tire soon and leave me in peace. But not without empty threats of endless beatings first. Dangling my feet, I laughed as she sighed with frustration. I would no sooner leave my tree than I would put on a dress.

"I think I'll stay up here, Nan," I called down to her. "Because I don't want to be a 'proper' lady!"

"Think so?" She challenged, ignoring my refusal to be proper as she often did. "I think you'll have to come down sooner or later!"

"Well it's not gonna be sooner!" I shouted back. Jumping agilely to my feet, I reached up and grabbed the branch above me, pulling myself farther up the tree. I could hear Nan sighing with irritation, but I didn't bother looking down. Instead I kept climbing. In my mind's eye, I could see Nan angrily throwing her hands in the air, the way she always does, before stalking off to find my father . . . probably asking the Maker for patience as she goes. I kept climbing, stopping only when the branches began to bend beneath my weight.

Nestling into a nook of the branch, my back against the trunk, I closed my eyes. I hated that everyone expected from me things that I had no desire to do. I didn't want to learn to be a Noble woman. I didn't want to have to listen as my mother spoke of future marriages and fancy clothes. I wanted . . . I wanted to learn to fight. Like Fergus. Like father. But father got his son, my mother would say. And she got her daughter, and she expected her daughter to act like a girl the way she should.

A rustling below me forced me to have to abandon my dreams for another time. Looking down, I noticed that a boy with red hair was climbing my tree. He must be oblivious of me, or else choosing not to notice. This was fine with me. He looked about my age, maybe a year older; thirteen maybe? While his face looked young, however, his body was lean and strongly built. From his tanned skin, I guessed he had worked in the fields. Another servant's child perhaps. It was when he was a foot below me that he finally looked directly at me, his eye growing wide with shock. I was startled to see that his face was tear-streaked.

He had clearly not noticed me after all, and my sudden appearance had startled him, causing him to jump. That was all it took. His hand slipped and he lost his footing. Locking my ankles around the branch, I threw myself sideway and grabbed a hold of his wrist, relying on my legs to keep us both from falling. The boy did not hesitate however, and immediately reached forward and re-gripped the branch in front of him, relieving me of his weight. I let go of his wrist once I was sure he was secure once more, and hastily pulled myself back up onto my branch. Our eyes met and his cheeks began to burn crimson. I wasn't sure what I should say. It had all happened so quickly that it almost seemed unreal.

Instead of saying anything, I quickly made my way down the tree, being careful not to touch him as I went. I felt mortified for some unexplainable reason. I had saved the boy . . . not his life, as the fall would not have killed him . . . but no doubt from a broken bone. He was obviously upset by the fact that he had been rescued by a girl . . . by a stupid girl. That's all I would ever be. I could feel my own cheeks begin to burn, but I was no longer embarrassed. I was angry. I began lowering myself recklessly in my attempt to get away, and more than once I felt as a twig or branch dug into my skin. I almost didn't hear him.

"Wait!"

I looked up at the boy ready to yell at him, but he no longer looked embarrassed; merely curious. Now that he had my attention, however, he seemed unsure of what to say.

"Thank you." He said, surprising me by his sincerity. I watched as he quickly tested the branch he held onto before seating himself. Perhaps I had been too quick to judge him. I was just too sensitive about what people expected me to be, instead of what I wanted to be. He waited, watching me, but when it became apparent to him that I would say nothing, he went on. "Are you a mute?"

His tone was not snide, nor did it sound as if he were making fun of me if I was in fact a mute, but I was not. It was just . . . I had never spoken to the servants children before as it was something Nan discouraged. Granted, had it just been Nan's disapproval, I might have disobeyed . . . but it seemed it was discouraged by the servants as well. They were here to work, not to chat as an equal. So the children all seemed to slowly disappear when I showed up. I had never considered myself better than them though, and now that I was finally being talked too I would not start acting as if I was now.

"No," I said finally. "I'm not a mute. And . . . and . . . you're welcome."

I could see the boy physically relax at my words. "I wouldn't have cared, you know . . ." he said. "If you were a mute, I mean. My father's a mute, but we communicate just fine."

I silently ran through the list of servants in my head, but I could not place anyone as a mute. They must be new here.

"How did your father become a mute?" I asked, without realizing I had started climbing back up the tree. It wasn't until I reached his dangling feet that I stopped, sitting on the branch beneath him.

"Well, before I was born . . . my dad was kidnapped by slavers," he began. "Angry at having his freedom taken away, and unarmed, he did the next best thing he could think of; he sang."

"Sang?" I asked skeptically, my brow raising. "How was _that_ the next best thing? What'd he do . . . sing himself mute?"

The boy smiled at my skepticism, not offended in the least. "No he didn't sing himself mute . . . but he sang off key every single day, from dawn till dusk, and often through the night as well."

"I don't understand . . ." I began slowly, trying to figure out where he was going with this.

"Well, the slavers got so fed up with his constant singing, and his refusal to shut up, that they pulled him out of his cage and cut out his tongue." He said without so much as flinching. I on the other hand, was revolted and brought my hands to my mouth as if hoping they would protect my own tongue from such a fate. "They left him there on the floor, bleeding," he continued, his excitement growing; the tears from before completely gone. It was clear that he enjoyed telling this story. "But what the slavers didn't know was that my father was trained in swords and daggers alike. It took but a moment before he was up and had killed the slavers with their own weapons. While he wasn't expecting to lose his tongue, he had planned on them getting fed up with his singing and pulling him out to beat him. He had formulated this plan to kill them from day one."

I couldn't help but smile through my shocked face. This boy's father knew of adventure I could only dream of. I tried to imagine myself in his father's shoes; the blood dripping from my mouth as I snuck up swiftly behind my captors and killed them. But then I frowned. That would never be me. Iwould only ever be a noble woman, denied action of that sort.

"After they were all dead, he went around and let free all the others who had been kidnapped." The boy said as he picked at the tree bark on the trunk. "That's how he met my mother."

"Your father is very brave." I said, meaning every word of it. "And now you and your family are here to work . . . did you arrive today?"

"Yeah, my dad and I. Mother, she . . ." he trailed off as his voice broke. He was trying hard to keep his face from crumpling, and I instantly knew what he was not saying. From the pain in his eyes and voice, it must have been only recently that his mother had died.

"Do you like it here?" I asked looking to change the subject. It seemed to work.

"I don't know yet. Father is still inside with Lord Cousland. I was in there at first too. I . . . I had to tell him . . . what happened . . ." again his voice grew quiet and I saw him ball his hands into fists. There was no question about what it was he had to tell my father, and it explained his tears when he first arrived to my tree. I imagined trying to explain the death of my own mother to a stranger. I shivered. The boy continued, "It was only after I could no longer . . . speak . . . that Lord Cousland retrieved some parchment for my father to write on, and sent me out of the room . . . not unkindly though. So how about you? Do you like it here? Are Lord and Lady Cousland nice? He seems nice. I hear they have two children of their own, is that true?"

Damn. I had been worried about when it would become my turn to speak. And so many questions! Part of me was curious to how a true servant might answer these, but as none were around, I would have to do my best. Would I tell him who I really was? I would have to, I guessed, as it wouldn't be long before he would learn of it anyway. Father always brought the new servants around to meet everyone. I sighed. I was really enjoying being able to sit and talk openly. This was going to change everything. Would he go running away immediately? Or would he make up some polite excuse as to why he must leave.

I didn't have a chance however, as my father chose that moment to show up under my tree.

"Ah, it seems we have found them both!" he laughed looking up at me and the boy. Next to him stood a muscular man, his hair the same shade of red as the boys. His arm was heavily bandaged, arousing my curiosity. His eyes showed surprise, however, and then worry as they darted from me, to his son, and then to my father. I knew what he was thinking. I sighed again.

"Rowen," my father said brightly to me, undisturbed by my companion or the fact that I was in a tree. He was used to it, and even encouraged my wild behavior . . . though more so behind my mother's back. "Come down here, I have someone I want you to meet. You might as well come too, Roderick."

I didn't look back as I made my way down to the ground. Nan might be easy to say no to, but Father was a whole different story. All the same, I could feel the boy's eyes burning into the back of my head, causing me to flush. He knew who I was now. Once on the ground, I kept my eyes averted as he came to stand a couple feet away from me. I noticed as the boy's (Roderick, did my father say?) father moved close to him. I on the other hand tried to look nowhere but at my father, who looked confused.

"You two look like you got caught raiding the larder," he laughed.

Before I could say anything, Roderick stepped forward. "Lord Cousland, I . . . I am sorry for my boldness with your daughter. I did not know who she was when I stopped to talk to her. I thought her the child of another servant . . . I beg your forgiveness."

I turned my head sharply to look at the boy. He was looking straight at my father and nowhere else however. I gazed at the boy's father and saw that he was watching my own father nervously. I hated this! I hated being treated like a leper because of some "noble" status. I had finally gotten a decent conversation and now it was ruined. I looked back at my father and saw that he was smiling.

"Well . . . in the rags that she's wearing, it's no wonder you thought her a servant." My father laughed. "I, however, have no doubt you were nothing but a gentleman when you were talking with her." He turned to look at me, "am I correct in that assumption?"

I nodded.

My father continued, "Furthermore, I grow weary of trying to set up 'play dates' with girls she dislikes. You two seem to be getting along just fine, so if she wishes to be your friend, and you hers, then I will leave that as a decision to be made between the two of you."

I smiled, daring a side-long glance toward Roderick. I was happy to see that he was smiling back at me through the same side-long glance. His father looked relieved as well.

"Well now that _that's_ been taken care of," my father said, turning to me. "Rowen, I want you to meet your new teacher, Ser Gilmore."

"My new teacher?" I asked, looking at the muscular man once more and then at my father. I already had an incredibly boring teacher, Aldous . . . what could they possibly have this one teaching me?

"Yes, pup." My father said with a large smile. "Against your mother's wishes, I have decided to give you something you've wanted, but have been denied for some time."

No. He couldn't possibly . . .

"Ser Gilmore here will be teaching you to fight."

I squealed with excitement, jumping up and down, before lunging at my father and wrapping my arms around him.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I cried out while he laughed.

"Perhaps, pup, you should start working on your discipline." My father said, still laughing as he took a step back from me and pushed my hair out of my face. "And let there be no mistake, if you are not listening, or if I find you are not taking this seriously . . . I will stop your training."

"I understand." I said, gaining control of myself and looking at him solemnly. I would make him proud.

"Very good." My father said, clasping my shoulder. "Sleep well tonight, for you will start early tomorrow."

And start the next day I did. I worked hard, for I had everything working against me. I was born into nobility and I was a girl. No one expected me to succeed. They all figured that this was just a phase I would soon get through and that only once I got it out of my system would I start behaving like a noble girl should. But I didn't grow out of it. I grew into it. I thirsted for it. Although Ser Gilmore could not speak, I quickly learned that what Roderick had said was true. He could communicate well enough through writing and demonstrations. When my first day of learning how to hold a sword properly and learning correct footing was over, I was already wishing it was the next day so that I could jump back into it. Soon I was learning to swing, jab, slice, and stab. Ser Gilmore tested me with several different sizes and weights of weapons.

The first weapon I trained with was a great sword, which I did well enough with. It required both hands which gave me a more accurate slice, but it wasn't my favorite. Staying with two handed weapons, he then had me try a maul . . . which I completely hated. It was heavy and bulky. I was lucky to just get it up off the ground. Because I hated it, however, Ser Gilmore made me use it that much more. Roderick explained to me that the reason he did this was because I may find myself in a situation someday, unarmed and having to use the next best thing I could find, which could very well be a maul.

Smirking, I turned to Ser Gilmore and stated, "I could always just try singing off key."

It was the first time I had heard Ser Gilmore laugh.

While I understood the need to learn all the weapons to the best of my abilities, I was still relieved when I was finally allowed stop using the stupid hammer. What surprised everyone, everyone but Roderick, was how quickly I excelled with daggers. So much so that it wasn't long before Ser Gilmore had me practicing with two at a time. They quickly became my favorite, along with a bow; another weapon I excelled at. But I preferred the daggers. They felt more like an extension of my own hands than they did as weapons sitting in them.

Another great thing to come from the training was that Roderick was there for all of them. He expressed his apology once more before we had started on the first day, and I was worried that the relaxed atmosphere we had once shared in the tree was gone for good, but I had been wrong. He was just so easy to talk to. And what was more . . . he didn't treat me differently as the others did. And he was always willing to volunteer to train with me when all the other boys would quickly turn away. He didn't placate me by taking it easy on me either. Sometimes I genuinely won, and other times, he did. Finally he stopped volunteering as it had become habit for us to just spar against one another.

Sadly once training would end, he would be required to go and do additional work and I would be left alone again. Soon I began to look forward to seeing Roderick's smiling face as much as I did the training. But I worked hard at being disciplined. Worked hard to learn and focus. Once Ser Gilmore was convinced of my ability t use all the weapons, he began letting me choose my favorite, which was always the two daggers. We would spend a few hours a day looking at and identifying different daggers; noting their strengths while discovering their weaknesses.

Ser Gilmore was a very good teacher, and after three years of working with him and Roderick, there was not a boy my age who could win a match against me . . . though more than once I heard them telling their friends that they "let me win" while they clutched at their bruised sides, panting like dogs. I would just smile knowingly while Roderick would shake his head and laugh.

Roderick was growing into a strong young man. His time spent training with me and working out in the fields had given him a strong physique. Often times I would catch myself staring at him, and then blushing. It wasn't like I _liked_ him or anything. Not like that anyway. Of course not! He was like a brother to me. No different than Fergus. Granted . . . Fergus never made me blush. Every once in a while, I would catch Roderick staring at me in return, but he would never blush when he saw that I had caught him. Only frown . . . which admittedly confused me. I didn't like that I seemed to make him upset. We were friends. He was my best friend if I were to be honest . . . and my only friend. I told him everything. My fears, my hopes. During those rare times that he had some free time to spend with me, we would go to our tree and just talk. It was nice to talk. He would tell me of his life before here, of his mother . . . which always seemed hard for him. And finally of how she had died - murdered by bandits who had ambushed them on their way here. His despair at being too young to save her, and his anger with his father for being unable to as well. According to Roderick, that was also when his father began drinking. This surprised me as I had never seen Ser Gilmore drunk.

It wasn't until my seventeenth birthday that everything fell apart. It had started out well enough. In fact, the entire day went so well that it was hard to believe that something bad had been waiting in store. My father had surprised me with the finest twin daggers I had ever laid eyes on. The hilt made of white marble and black onyx while the blades themselves were made of the finest steel money could buy. They could slice parchment in half without effort. I eyed them carefully noting their strengths as I had been taught, testing their weight in my hands. It was as if they had been made to fit my hands exactly. Their weight perfectly balanced. I could find no weaknesses.

"It has also been enchanted." My father continued with a smile.

"You mean . . ." I said in awe. "It has magic? Real magic?"

"Yes," he grinned. "The blades have been made to recognize when they have been unsheathed for battle and will set themselves aflame."

I needed to pick my jaw up off the floor. I ran my hand along the cool steel of one of the blades, surprised that it did not feel hotter. There was no doubt that the beauty of the daggers could not hide the deadliness of them . . . but I had had no idea just how deadly. Suddenly I felt myself frowning, my heart sinking. When would I ever need them for battle? He was placating me again, pretending.

"Something wrong, pup?" he asked, having seen my face drop.

"No, father. Of course not." I gave him a hug and kissed his cheek. "These are simply . . . magnificent. Thank you."

The next few hours were spent with well-wishers, a party that my mother insisted on throwing, and my brother, Fergus standing proudly with his new wife Oriana. She had started showing, and he had a hand placed protectively over her stomach. Several others came as well. Arl Howe was there, talking to my father, while his wife was burying herself deep in the wine. Their children: Nathaniel, Delilah, and Thomas were running amok as they often did. In fact, only Nathaniel was nice enough to come and wish me a happy birthday. There were others as well, but I lost track of them all. I didn't care to play with the children, and the increasingly drunk adults were beginning to annoy me.

Then I saw him, his red hair giving him away as it often did. He had not been invited to the party as he was a servant, and even though I had fought with my mother over it, she had put her foot down. There were some things that were just not allowed, she had insisted. And while she tolerated mine and Roderick's friendship (as it was just that and nothing more); I needed to remember that he was a servant. She had also put her foot down when it came to the dress I had refused to wear. Angry, I had stalked out of the room, refusing to allow her to finish my hair. Nan ended up tracking me down to do it.

I made my way quickly across the hall toward him. His arms were full of dirty rags but his face broke into a grin when he saw me coming, his eyes wide as he took in the ridiculous dress I wore. He probably thought I looked stupid too. All the same, I couldn't help but to smile as well, my heart skipping a beat.

"Meet me in our usual spot," he whispered once I was close enough. "I have something for you."

Before I could answer, he swept from the room at the same time that my mother appeared behind me. She looked on the verge of speaking, but I was still too angry with her. I turned on my heel and walked away . . . but not before I heard her call out her warning.

"You had better not run off to meet him."

Turning, I glared furiously at her. I didn't like the suggestion behind her words. He was my friend! My best friend! Nothing more! And yet . . . the look she was giving me . . . as if she knew something I did not!

"I'm going to my room." I snapped. "I care not for your party, or the people here. Goodnight."

It wasn't a complete lie. My blades were in my room, and I was eager to show them to Roderick. And I really was tired of the party full of people I cared little for. They only came because my father was the Teyrn of Highever anyway.

Once in my room, I was sure my mother would send Nan to babysit so I wasted no time grabbing my blades and running out. I didn't bother changing as I feared I didn't have time. I was right. I dashed behind a suit of armor as the door in front of me opened and Nan appeared. It took only a moment for her to glance in my room and see that I was gone.

"Maker help her," she mumbled irritably, as I tried making sure I was completely hidden. "Because I sure can't! Not that she would let me anyway. What does the Teryness expect me to do anyway? I can't stop that girl from falling in love with the boy anymore than she can . . . Maker I need a drink."

The door shut heavily behind her, but I couldn't move from the shadows. Love? Nan and my mother thought I was in love with Roderick? That was my mother's fear? Preposterous! Of course I wasn't in love with Roderick. I mean . . . I loved him . . . but as a friend. Like a brother. Sure, thinking of Roderick made my heart skip a beat, but he had always done that too me. It meant nothing. And, okay . . . I _had_ been noticing him more . . . his strong jaw line, the curve of his neck . . . the way his muscles contracted when he wielded his blade . . .

No. I shook my head. I notice these things because we practically grew up together! One is bound to notice changes in a friend they spend every day with! Besides . . . even if . . . IF . . . I were to . . . to think of him differently . . . it would not be allowed anyway. He was a servant and I a noble woman. My cheeks flushed as shame swept over me. That was the first time I had ever put myself above him. Suddenly I was angry as the truth hit me. I loved him. I loved him but I could do nothing about it, for it would never be allowed. My anger was quickly diminished by the pain of this new undeniable truth. Roderick wasn't a fight I could win. I would be expected to marry someone of nobility. To suggest otherwise . . . not even my father would have it. I was sure of this. Just one more thing that I would be denied because of expectations. But this wasn't wanting to learn to fight, or climbing trees. This wasn't refusing to wear dresses, or being a proper lady. I was being denied my right to love.

But really . . . I guessed since there was no way that Roderick could possibly feel the same, it couldn't matter too much, right? I would keep this to myself. I would continue to deny what everyone else seemed to already know . . . something that I myself just learned.

Checking that the cost was clear, I ran out into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

It did not take me long to reach our tree. Looking up into the branches, I saw his feet dangling and felt my heart give a saddened lurch. I would not say a word. He would not know. Not ever. I bit back on the sadness that I felt, hating that I felt it. Angry that I could do nothing with my feelings.

"Coming up?" He called down to me. "Or are you afraid of ruining that dress."

His teasing helped to calm me a little, and I laughed. "Not even remotely."

I set the daggers at the base of the tree, knowing that I would not be able to climb with them. I would show him when we came down. Hiking the dress above my knees, I began to climb, silently relishing each time a branch tore at the fabric, ripping it. Stupid dress. By the time I reached Roderick, I was in disarray, the fabric hanging in shreds. He laughed, pulling a twig out of my hair.

"Your dress is torn." He said, tugging the frayed fabric of my sleeve.

"Thanks for pointing out the obvious," I retorted.

"You must be devastated," he teased.

I punched him, noticing unwillingly how strong his shoulder felt under my weaker fist. He noticed nothing, only laughed. When his laughter stopped, we sat there in what would be for him, a comfortable silence. But for me . . . for the first time ever, it was awkward. I didn't know what to say to him. What could I say? Surely professing my love was out of the question, so instead I just picked at the loose threads of my ruined dress, silently cursing Nan for talking to herself.

"Rowen?" Turning, I was startled to see his face so close to mine. His lips, so perfect, only inches from my own. His eyes showed worry. "Are you okay? You look upset."

Of course I'm upset! I wanted to scream. I'm in love with a man that I can have no future with! Instead I said, "Oh, it's nothing. My mother . . . being her usual self. We got in a fight earlier."

"What about?" he asked genuinely concerned.

"About you," I blurted out before thinking. Damn!

"About me . . . ? What . . . did I do something wrong?" He asked worried again. How I wanted to take his face in my hands and kiss that worry away and tell him that the only thing he's guilty of is being . . . him. Yeah, that would help him not to worry.

"No," I sighed. "It's just that I wanted to invite you to my party. My mother . . . in her almighty wisdom . . . explained why it was not a good idea. I disagreed."

"Rowen," Roderick said sternly, demanding my attention. "Your mother was right. And you can't go fighting with her over a servant."

"I don't like it!" I argued, angry that he was taking her side. "She makes it sound like you . . . all of you . . . are beneath her! And you're not!"

"But we are Rowen." He said calmly. "And we're okay with that, because you're parents treat and pay us well. People like your parents are few and far between."

I shook my head, disbelievingly. He was wrong. My mother tolerated our friendship for my father. But I knew she hated it long before I learned why. The idea of mingling with servants was as unruly to her as was the idea of offering the Maker a wench.

"Whatever," I sighed.

Roderick laughed, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me in for a hug. Not an uncommon thing for us, but now it sent goose bumps speeding down my skin. I leaned into him, smelling his skin mixed with the leathers he wore. I felt his hand tighten around my waist and realized that we should have separated by now. We had never sat like this before. My heart began to race. I should pull away, my logical side thought. Put an end to this! But then . . . he's just trying to comfort me, I rationalized. Besides, why should I be the first to end it? The stubborn part of me argued. I agreed with my stubborn side. No sooner had I become content with leaning against Roderick, he was sighing and pulling away from me. The sigh confused me, but when I looked up at him, I saw that he was smiling. I forced my own.

"Here," he said handing me a badly wrapped package. "It's not much."

"Shut up," I said, nudging him with my elbow. "I bet it's better than anything I received tonight."

I turned to smile at him, and my breath caught in my throat. He was watching me so intently, a hunger I had never seen before in his eyes. I blinked and he was smiling his usual smile. Had I imagined what I had just seen? No . . . but, his transformation was so quick . . . so instant that I doubted myself. You dumb girl, I chastised myself. Stop trying to see things in him that you long to see!

"We'll see," he shrugged, unaware of my internal struggle.

Opening the bits of old parchment carefully, a pair of leather bracers fell into my lap. Picking them up, I held them in the moonlight to get a better look at them. I was no expert on these things, but they looked exquisitely made. No doubt expensive.

"Roderick . . . how did you . . . ?" I began.

"Rory," he said as if that explained everything. When he saw the confusion on my face, he went on. "He's been teaching me a bit of leatherworking. I made these."

"You made them?" I was impressed. "Roderick, they're exquisite! You could definitely make a great career out of this! Thank you."

Even in the moonlight, I could see the blush of his cheeks. He turned away embarrassedly. I knew he did not often get the praise he deserved, but he deserved this. He deserved a better thank you as well. But what could I possibly give him for such a thoughtful gift? His face was still turned when I decided what I would do. Leaning forward, I brought my lips toward his cheek with the intent of surprising him with a kiss, when he turned his head and our lips met instead.

It was brief, oh so brief. But enough to change everything. He reared back in surprise at the same time that my fingers flew to my mouth - my lips tingling from the brief encounter. I registered mutely how absurd I must look with my eyes wide with shock, unable to say anything.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out. "I did not mean to . . . I didn't realize you were so close!"

My heart faltered. Of course he had not meant to. Lowering my hand, I smiled. Hoping to hide the pain his words had caused me. My first kiss, and it had been an accident. I tried to mask what I was feeling with a joke.

"Riiight," I laughed. "I merely meant to kiss your cheek in thanks for the bracers. _Apparently_ you sought for more."

"No! I wouldn't have . . . I mean . . . that's not what I meant." He fumbled.

I laughed again. "Roderick, it's okay! Calm yourself. It was an accident. I should have warned you of what I was going to do."

He was quiet for a moment, before he gave an unconvincing smile. "Well, I am sorry."

Then we both broke into genuine, uncalled for, and absurd laughter. I couldn't help it. The situation was just so . . . awkward and maddening . . . and painful. I wanted him to wrap me in his arms, whisper that he loved me . . . kiss me again, but for real. I have no idea when my laughter turned to tears. But I was instantly aware of the warmth of his arms embracing me.

"Why are you crying?" he asked bewildered.

"I don't know," I lied.

"Was the kiss that bad?" he teased. "I swear it won't happen again!"

I know it was supposed to be a joke, and that he was trying to cheer me up, but his words only made me cry more.

He laughed and shook his head. "My mother used to cry for no reason too. I think it's one of those girl things."

I laughed. I really was being stupid. Wiping my eyes on my frayed sleeves, I held the bracers up to him. "Help me put them on?"

"Of course."

I watched as he skillfully released the stitching to allow my hands to glide smoothly and easily through them. The insides were soft on my wrist, fitting snuggly and comfortably. I watched as his strong hands that could easily wield a blade, laced up the bracers with ease.

"There you go." He said, his fingers lingering on my now covered wrists. I looked up into his eyes and saw the hunger and longing from before. No, I was imagining it. I had to be.

"Roderick . . . I . . ." I what? What had I planned to say? What _could_ I say? There was nothing to say. Why should I make him share my torment? That would be selfish. "Thank you," I finished lamely.

Before another word could be spoken between us, a loud knocking came from below. We both looked down to see Ser Gilmore hitting the trunk of the tree with the hilt of one of my twin blades. It may have been my height, but it looked as though he was having trouble staying upright. Seeing that he had our attention, however, he pointed at us. The message was clear. "Get down here now." Roderick sighed heavily next to me, before whispering for me to stay where I was. I looked at him, ready to tell him that I would do no such thing when I was halted by the pleading and fear in his eyes. Something was not right, and as Roderick began to make his way down the tree, I focused on Ser Gilmore again. He was definitely having trouble standing.

The moment Roderick's feet touched the ground, Ser Gilmore pinned him against the tree and began gesturing angrily up to where I still sat. This was not okay! I watched in horror as Ser Gilmore threw Roderick away from the tree and sprawling onto the ground. I immediately began to make my way down the tree.

"Stay where you're at!" shouted Roderick. I ignored him.

As my feet met land, I turned to see Ser Gilmore looming over me, his face distorted in anger and the stench of ale on his breath. He grabbed me roughly and shoved me against the tree in the same manner that he had done to Roderick, and began grunting and pointing at his son. I couldn't imagine what we had possibly done to elicit such rage from him. And where were our guards? They could be stopping this!

Without warning, both me and Ser Gilmore were knocked to the ground. The force of the blow causing him to lose his grip on me. Grappling to my feet, I saw that Roderick was on top of his father, screaming in his face. I had never seen him so angry. It was . . . frightening.

" . . . ever touch her again!" he screamed in Ser Gilmores face. "Not ever!"

"Roderick!" I yelled, trying to grab his arm and pull him back. "Roderick, come on!"

Roderick looked up at me as if seeing me for the first time. The distraction was all Ser Gilmore needed to land a punch into Roderick's face, knocking him backwards and getting up just as quickly and crawling on top of him, launching blow after blow to his face. He would kill him! Not knowing what else to do, I threw myself onto Ser Gilmore's back, clawing at his face and trying to rip him off of Roderick. What the hell was going on here? Why? That was all I could think of as Ser Gilmore tried to beat his son while trying to throw me off his back. Why would he do this? What did we do?

A large fist finally dislodged me from his back and I could feel my eye swelling quickly. Rolling over, I looked up and saw Ser Gilmore approaching me, one of my daggers in his hand. He shook his head as if he felt regret for a moment. But only for a moment cause in the next second, he raised the dagger to strike.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the blow that never came.

The bang of the steel hitting the ground caused me to look up. I wished I had kept them shut. Ser Gilmore was on his knees before me, the look of surprise forever etched on his face. My gaze travelled past him to Roderick and then down to my dagger in his hand. The blood had run down to the hilt, mixing with the white and black stone.

Panic kicked in and I scrambled to my feet. "Come with me!" Reaching down, I grabbed my other blade before taking his free hand in my own. "Come on!"

I had to hide him. I had to protect him until I could find my father. If the guards came now, they would certainly arrest him! But where? And then it hit me. I ran . . . and I kept running, pulling him along with me. It was difficult seeing out of my swollen eye, but I finally made it.

"Stay here and stay hidden!" I ordered, before walking down the road just a little to make sure it was clear. It was. Where the hell were all the guards? Though right now I was grateful that they were nowhere to be found. Flinging open a door to my left, I again made sure it was clear, as well as the room beyond it. Once I was convinced that we would not be spotted, I made my way back to Roderick, who was perched against the building, clutching his side. His face had swelled at an alarming rate. "Let's go."

Leading him through the door, I shut it quickly behind me. I saw the look of curiosity on Roderick's face . . . at least I think it was curiosity . . . but I ignored it as I led him through the next door into the larder.

"Thanks for your concern . . ." he said through clenched teeth. "But I don't think I'm too hungry right now."

I raised my brow at his attempt to joke. "Then it's a good thing I'm not trying to feed you," I retorted. "There's an old hidden servant's passage in here. It hasn't been used in a long time, as Father had that new one put in. It's mostly been used to store old stuff since then."

Walking toward the back, I used my body to push the crates aside and pulled up the hidden trap door. "You'll be safe in here." I tucked my blades as best as I could into my dress and began to climb down.

I didn't need to explain what I meant. He knew. As a servant that had killed another servant, he would be jailed immediately . . . even if it _was_ in self defense. While I didn't think harm would come to him once I told my father of what happened, the idea of him sitting in that cage for even a night tore at me. And then there was the idea that I might not find my father right away. Some of our guards were pretty quick to hand out swift judgment, which meant that they could very well kill him before I reached my father. Of course, us fleeing the scene would not make matters better . . . but I didn't care. I would not have him caught until I spoke with my father.

I had to help him down the ladder, and once down he leaned against the stone wall while I shut the latch and then grabbed an old lantern going in search of a way to light it. There was none. And to make matters worse, my daggers were beginning to slice through my dress. Frustrated, I ripped them from my dress angrily, but cried out and nearly threw them as they begin to burn brightly. The enchantment! They must have thought I was in battle by way I had ripped them out of my dress. I nearly laughed at our luck.

"Neat trick," Roderick said tiredly. How he could see anything through his swollen face however, was beyond me.

I used the blades to light every lantern I could find. Then I stared at the burning steel, wondering how to put them out. Afraid of burning myself, I ended up just setting them on the ground, where the extinguished themselves. That works I guess. I quickly went to work moving boxes aside and making room in the small passage. A small bed that had once belonged to my brother, before he had insisted getting a larger bed, was placed against the wall and I led Roderick to it. He sat down gently.

"What in the Makers name was that about?" I finally asked, throwing my hands in the air as I paced. The adrenaline was finally wearing off, and my face was beginning to hurt. I was also now aware of the knot growing on my skull. I guessed it had occurred when I had been shoved against the tree. "You killed him, Roderick! Your father, Ser Gilmore . . ." Tears began to spill down my cheeks. "I don't understand!"

A warm hand slipped into mine, pulling me onto the bed. "I had hoped you would never have to understand," Roderick said softly.

"Understand what? What . . . why did he attack you? Why did he come after me?" I was nearly screaming. Why was he just sitting there . . . so calm?

"My father -" he spit the word _father_ "- he was never the same after my mother's death. He began drinking. This much I told you. What I failed to tell you was that his temper changed as well . . . and not just his temper, but his whole personality. Oh he could act. But it seemed the more he had to act, the worse it would be later."

"The worse what would be?" I asked.

Very slowly, and not without pain, he removed his shirt. My hand flew to my mouth in horror. His body was covered in scars and bruises alike. New bruises from tonight formed over older yellowish ones. I timidly reached out and ran a finger over a particularly long scar that went down his chest.

"The older I got, the more ruthless his _games_ became," he said with anger.

"Games?" I was afraid to ask . . . more afraid of his answer. But I needed to know.

"Yeah, his 'pain game'." He said with disgust. "The point of it was to see how much pain he could inflict before I begged him to stop. The problem was, if I asked him to stop too early on in the game, then the next time he wanted to play, the means of inflicting the pain would be more severe than the last. It took me a while to learn this."

"That's sick!" I cried out. "Oh Roderick . . . I . . . I'm so sorry. Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Tell you what? That my father was a sick bastard? Have him arrested and then be shipped off to an orphanage never to see you again? No. That wasn't an option." He smiled, caressing my chin with his thumb. "It was okay though. Every day I got to see your smile."

"My smile was not worth your pain!" I said through tears.

"Sure it was." He tried to smile, but grimaced instead. "But I couldn't let him touch you. He was angry at you . . . sure that I was telling you, even though I insisted I wasn't. He always felt it was only a matter of time before you went to your father. But when you didn't, he was forced to believe me. Though he always made sure to keep his game isolated to my chest and back. That way my marks would not be seen during the day."

"But why attack tonight?" I asked. I was so appalled with Ser Gilmore. More than appalled. The fact that I ever held even an iota of respect for the man churned my stomach.

"My guess is that he thought I was finally really telling you. That he felt the need to shut us both up. He wasn't exactly sane when he was sober, but alcohol . . . there's no telling what was going through his head. But when he struck you against the tree . . . I . . . I lost it. Years of his sick games . . . years of his blatant abuse . . . years of him acting like the father of the year when people were around . . . I could handle them all. But I couldn't handle him touching you. Not like that."

Roderick laid back on the bed, and I jumped up to allow him to lay down straight. His eyes were closed and his breathing was becoming slow regular. The blood coming from his nose and mouth had stopped, leaving only a dried smatter of red and dirt. I went in search of a rag and water, finding one up stairs in a pail of water that had not been emptied. With the latch closed once more, I walked back to Roderick, who was asleep now.

This man had endured pain so unimaginable . . . just so he could see me smile. I hated seeing him in pain. Hated knowing what he had gone through. A smile! For a smile! It made no sense! Unless . . . my breath hitched in my throat. Unless . . . the looks . . . the hugs . . .

"No," I whispered, sitting softly on the edge of the bed, the tears running silently down my face. I used the rag to gently wipe away the blood and dirt. He did not wake up. "Not you too. I could handle it if it were only me who suffered from this . . . but it's not fair for you to suffer silently as well!"

None of it was fair! The pain he endured for years would be for nothing! It would never be allowed. _We_ would never be allowed! Tossing the dirty rag aside, I hid my face in my hands.

"Please . . ." I whispered. "Please don't fall in love with me."

Roderick groaned in pain, his eyes fluttering open. "Fell asleep?"

I hastily wiped away my tears. "Yeah. But its okay, you _should_ sleep. I'm gonna go find my father. I'll be back soon."

He nodded and his eyes closed once more. Maker keep him safe, I thought. Watching his sleeping form. I would be quick. I made my way to the trapdoor when I heard him. Turning around, I looked at him, but he wasn't moving. He must be talking in his sleep. Shaking my head, I turned for the door once more when I heard my name again. This time I walked back to him. Reaching up, he took my hand in his, his eyes meeting mine. He tried to say the word, and I could see it form on his lips. He was so tired, but what he wanted was clear . . . even if he did not have the energy to say it. But would I? Looking around, I grabbed a blanket littered with holes from years of mice chewing on it and placed it over him. I sat on the edge of the bed once more, watching his sleeping form.

I would, I decided.

Laying my head gently on his chest, I tucked myself into his side as he helped to wrap the blanket around me. As I trailed my hand up his chest, I could feel the scars . . . each one of them like a dagger through my heart. My heart raced as his free hand found mine, lacing his fingers through my own and pulling them tightly against his chest. He sighed and within minutes, he was asleep again.

Yes, I would stay. Tomorrow, I would have to deal with the hell that will have broken loose. But tonight . . . tonight I stayed.

I wasn't sure what time it was when I decided to give up trying to sleep. The lanterns had all burned out leaving it dark. For all I knew it could be three in the morning or mid afternoon. Either way, I had lain here long enough. Roderick was still sleeping, and I tried hard not to wake him as I pulled myself to a sitting position and gently removed my hand from his. He had held it all night. Sorrow engulfed me again as it had throughout the night and I had to fight back tears. It just wasn't fair.

But I could not think of these things now. I needed to get him help. Getting to my feet, I walked silently to the trap door and pushed it up just enough to see if anyone was nearby. There was no one. Not much light streamed through the nearby window, and I guessed it to be early dawn. Pushing back the door, I pulled myself through it and then closed it and set a box on top, hiding it once more. I again paused at the door, listening for the sound of anyone, but I heard nothing. I left the larder. The breeze outside felt nice on my inflamed and swollen eye as I made my way to my parent's quarters. I didn't get far when I was flagged down by a guard.

"My lady!" he called, approaching me quickly. "You're alive!"

"Yes, of course . . . where's my father?" I asked looking around.

"Why, he's out looking for you," the guard said as if this was something I should just know. Granted, I figured he would be. I wondered how long after we disappeared that the guards had finally showed up. I thought about asking, but I didn't bother. I had more important things to do.

"Then you shall help me find him," I stated. The guard just stared at me. "What?" I asked irritably. We were wasting time.

"Well, it's just . . . maybe you should see a healer about your face, my lady." He said tentatively. "Did Roderick do that?"

"Roderick do . . . ?" I began, confused by what he was saying. Then it clicked. "No, you ass!"

Turning on my heel, I walked away, angry at the guard for even suggesting such a thing! I didn't make it very far before I was flagged down again.

"Rowen . . . ? ROWEN!" I turned to see my mother running toward me. I just stood there as she threw her arms around me, crying. "Oh my darling girl! Where have you been? Your face! What happened? Did Roderick do this? I feared the worst when they found Ser Gilmore slain and you and that boy gone! Your dress!"

"Mother . . ." I interjected, taking a step back to put some space between us. "Where's father? I need him."

"He's out searching for you!" She cried, closing the space and hugging me again. "I felt so terrible! Had I known that-"

"Mother!" I cried out angrily. "When will father be back?"

"What . . . in a few hours I suspect after I send word of your return." She said. "What's wrong? What happened?"

A few hours? My heart sank. Roderick needed a healer now. But who could I turn too now? I looked at my mother. It wasn't that I didn't love her. I did . . . I just knew how she felt about Roderick. Would she be able to put that aside? Would she believe what I have to say? I would have no choice but to find out.

"Mother, I need you to listen to me." I began, forcing her to look me in the eye. "Roderick-"

"That boy!" she cried out cutting me off. "I knew he was trouble! Ser Gilmore's dead! I feared that you . . . that he would . . ."

"What you think you know is wrong!" I screamed at her. Her eyes widened in shock at my tone and she fell silent. "Roderick did nothing to hurt me mother. Roderick . . . he saved me."

I finally had her attention. "I don't understand," she said slowly.

"After you and I fought last night," I began as her eyes welled with tears. "I went to my room to retrieve my twin blades. I wanted to show them to Roderick, knowing that he would appreciate them. He had also made me a gift that he wanted to give me. When I got there, we sat in our tree and talked for a short time . . . but then . . . Ser Gilmore showed up. He was drunk and Roderick went down to talk to him, only . . . Ser Gilmore attacked Roderick!"

"He did what?" She gasped.

"I went down to help him, but Ser Gilmore attacked me too." I continued. It was harder to talk about it than I had thought it would be, and my voice was becoming pitchy. "Roderick stopped him, but not without being punished severely for it. I tried to stop Ser Gilmore but I couldn't, and he came at me with my own blade drawn . . . he meant to kill me . . ."

My voice hitched as I remembered the crazed look in his eye as he lifted the blade, and the cold hand of death I felt as I waited for him to strike. My mother looked absolutely terrified.

"But before he could . . . Roderick . . . he saved me again. He ran his own father through with my other blade . . . and . . . and . . . oh mom!" I cried, tears spilling down my cheek. "He's hurt really bad! He needs a healer! I tried my best to comfort him last night. To keep him safe so the guards did not try to arrest him . . . but he's not doing well. I think his skull might be broken from the blows he took to the head. We have to help him! Please!" I begged.

Squaring her shoulders, my mother's jaw tightened. "Take me to him."

Together we ran back toward the larder. My mother stopped only briefly to curse herself for not thinking to check here before grabbing a lit lantern and following me down the ladder. I immediately went to Roderick's side. He was awake now and with the light, I could see that his face was much worse. His eyes were swollen shut, and his nose had begun bleeding again. I noticed that its shape wasn't right.

"I'm here," I said softly, taking his hand in mine. His grip was weak, but at least it was there. "I've brought my mother. She knows the truth."

He nodded weakly.

Everything went so quickly after that. The guards came down to help take him out of the passageway and back to his quarters, where my mother had called in Nan to see after him but not before she was made to tend to me first. Irritated, I refused but my mother insisted and I was too tired to argue. I had to admit that my face felt better once she was done. It was still difficult to see, but I would live. From what I would later come to learn, however, was that Roderick's condition was too severe for Nan to mend, and they had had to ask for help from the mages. I had missed the templar and the healer showing up, but the servants talked about it for some time afterwards.

What I did notice was that my mother had not left my side since she had found me. My father had long since returned, and now with them both by my side, I recounted what had happened again. But this time, I included what Ser Gilmore had been doing to his son behind closed doors. Explained and described, to their horror and disgust, all about the 'pain game', as well as the reason that Roderick believed Ser Gilmore had attacked us last night.

When I finished, I laid my head against my mother's shoulder and fell to sleep.

I woke in a panic, bolting up and into my mother's arms.

"Hush darling," she said, pushing my sweaty hair out of my face. "You're safe."

"Where's Roderick?" I asked. My mother frowned.

"He is doing well . . . doesn't look like he's been in a fight at all. A strange thing magic is." She said, and then added almost hesitantly. "He's been . . . asking for you."

I jumped to my feet ignoring the protests from my sore muscles. "Take me to him."

"Darling," my mother began carefully. But I didn't want to hear it. My face must have given away what I was thinking, because she continued quickly. "I'm not here to argue or fight . . . I just want to talk to you."

I sighed, sitting back down. There was no point in putting this off. I looked at her expectantly.

"He loves you." She stated bluntly, her words surprising me. I was not expecting her to open with that. I bit my lip. "But he is . . ."

"A servant, I know." I said irritably. "But if you'd bothered to ask how I felt about him in return, you would know that you have nothing to worry about.

"It is not just that he's a servant, I hope you know that." My mother said with a sigh, ignoring the rest of what I said. "As noble women . . . sadly . . . we have things that are expected of us. How we shall act, who we will be allowed to marry . . . the list is never ending. If he gets in the way of that . . . we will have to send him to work elsewhere."

I couldn't speak. They would send him away? I wanted to scream at her. Tell her how absurd she was being. How much pain that would bring me.

"Do not think us ungrateful though. He would leave with a large amount of gold and a very high recommendation from us. It's just . . . we can't have . . ."

"I get it." I cut in. "And I'm aware that he and I can never be. Once again, had you asked me how I felt, you would know there is nothing to worry about. He is my friend mother. And yes, he is my best friend. But that is as far as it goes. You need not to send him away."

I wanted to curl into a ball and cry. I wanted to send my mother away and weep for the life I would be denied; for the lie I told my mother.

"Oh darling," my mother sighed, cupping my face in her hands. "I didn't need to ask how you felt about the boy because the answer has always been so clear. But if you feel you can deny it . . . then that is a choice you must make. I only ever wished for your happiness so it breaks my heart more than you will ever know to know that I must deny you of it now. You will find Roderick in the study with your father."

With that she left.

I hated her. I hated my father. I hated my status. I didn't want it, nor did I need it. Why couldn't I have what I wanted? Was being in love with a servant really that shameful? I slowly got dressed, noticing that my blades were perched on top of my vanity. Ser Gilmores blood still stained the white marble. I shuddered and left my room.

I looked nowhere, and answered no one as I made my way dejectedly to father's study. Fergus emerged just as I reached for the handle.

"How are you doing sister?" He asked, embracing me.

"I don't know." And then I cried.

Putting an arm around me, Fergus ushered me into another room where he held me. I cried for what I was losing, and I cried for what I would have to do. Soon my tears dissolved into hiccups as I came to terms with what I must do. Pulling away from him, I forced a smile.

"It will all work out, Rowen." He smiled. "You will see."

Yeah, easy for him to say . . . he had already met and married the woman he loved and they were expecting their first child this year. He would never understand that loving someone you weren't allowed to, meant that it would _never_ work out. Instead I just nodded and followed him out of the room, allowing him to lead me back towards the study. He squeezed my arm gently before turning to leave. I was grateful for his comforts, but still . . . the daft fool failed to see how anything could ever get better. Taking a deep breath, I entered. My father smiled as he looked up from his desk. Roderick's smile was even wider, and much more painful to see, but somehow I managed to smile back.

"You are well?" I asked, my eyes scanning his face. My mother was right. He looked . . . perfect. Damn . . . I would somehow have to try harder to remove the emotion from my voice. I realized I was too concerned.

"Yes," Roderick said, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that forced me to look away.

"That is . . . good." I turned quickly to my father, not sure if I could hold this charade up much longer. "And what of Ser Gilmore?"

"Well," my father began. "Roderick and I have been discussing this, and it has been decided that he will be buried in the servant's cemetery. We have also been discussing his version of what went on last night and I must say, hearing it come from him . . . and seeing what he had to go through . . . it was more disturbing than I first thought."

My stomach dropped. If my father spoke of _seeing_ his pain, I was sure that he wasn't talking about Roderick's recent wounds. He must have seen the scars and bruises. Anger with Ser Gilmore welled inside of me. I felt like a lion ready to strike. Only . . . there was no one to strike. Only the memory of the offender remained. I was also curious as to why Roderick wouldn't have had the healers remove the scars. Surely that is within their power to do.

"Yes," I said. "No doubt I could not tell it . . . or show it . . . as well as Roderick."

From the corner of my eye, I saw Roderick give a slight smile. I could do this, I told myself. I had to! They would send him away otherwise, and that was simply not an option. He tolerated pain most unimaginable in order to stay here . . . I would not have that be for nothing just because I could not behave correctly when he was in the room.

"Well," my father said getting to his feet. "All that leaves is the matter of what to do with you, Roderick."

Wait, what? I could feel my heart pounding. I thought this had been decided! He would stay! I haven't messed up! Had I? I quickly went over every move I made since I walked in. No . . . I had done nothing. I could only watch in horror as my father rounded his desk and came to a stop in front of Roderick.

"I am still looking in to where my guards were last night. Their absence was . . . unacceptable. I apologize to both of you for their failures." He turned to look at me and I could tell he was being both sincere, and incredibly angry with his guards. "That said, I cannot have something like that occurring again." I jumped as my father slammed his fist on the table. "I cannot have my daughter's life put in danger because our guards are nowhere to be found."

Roderick and I exchanged a nervous glance, but remained silent as we waited to see where my father was going with this all.

"But that's where you come in," he continued, looking at Roderick. "You protected my daughter . . . not thinking twice about slaying your own blood as a means to protect her. And for that . . . for that I am forever in your debt." Roderick began to argue, but my father waved his protests away. "I need men like you." He continued. "The _guard_ needs men like you. And that is where I would like you to go. Working in the fields and doing odd jobs around the castle is, I believe, a waste of your abilities. That and quite frankly, I would feel safer knowing that you are watching over us."

I couldn't help the smile that was forming. He wasn't getting sent away! And he was even being offered a better job; guardsman. It was as if a ton had been lifted from my shoulders. I felt light and giddy. Roderick looked stunned, but he quickly accepted. I watched as my father drew his sword and began to perform the rights. My heart skipped a beat each time Roderick would speak, and when all was done, my father stepped back.

"Arise, Ser Gilmore . . . knight and captain of the guard," my father smiled.

I shuddered at the title of Ser Gilmore, and I was sure I thought I saw a slight shiver go through Roderick as well, but he said nothing. He only smiled. He had to be the youngest man ever appointed to captain. I wondered what the other guards would think when they found out that this . . . boy, as they would see him . . . was now their captain. Especially when they learned that he had no experience. Suddenly it dawned on me that I didn't care what they thought.

"Congratulation's Rod-Ser Gilmore." I smiled, when they turned to look at me. "You will make a wonderful Captain of the Guard."

His eyes caught and held mine, and I could see so many unspoken questions in them. I tried to hide the pain that I was sure was flashing through my own eyes. Tried to hide the fact that I wanted to run into the protection of his arms. And I tried to hide the fact that lying in his arms last night was the best night of my life . . . even under the circumstances. I couldn't . . . I just . . . I had to leave.

"I beg your pardon . . . I must . . . go." I turned and fled the room just as the tears began to fall.

I would have to do better. I would do better.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

I had promised myself that I would fight it. That I would hide everything I needed to so that they would not send him away. Ser Gilmore, as he had become used to being called, earned the respect of his men quickly. It seemed that his act of bravery ran deeper through his men than anyone could have expected. He had changed the fate of his name, and now no one thought of his father when they said it. But with his new title, he found himself busier than he had ever been in the past. Long ago, I would have found this as a reason to complain, but now I embraced it.

Four years had passed since that horrible night we were attacked, and the wonderful night I got to spend in his arms. Playing my part was difficult at first, but it slowly got easier as the time had passed. It was only ever truly it's hardest when we found ourselves alone together. That was when it would become painfully obvious that while everything had changed, nothing had. I was still in love with him. And I was sure that he felt the same. I could see it in the way I would catch him looking at me when he thought I wasn't watching. In the way he teased me from time to time, but we had never truly been able to bring back the friendship we had once had, for it was too painful.

In the beginning, it was just easier to leave the room, rather than to stay if he was in there. I couldn't trust that I wouldn't just throw away everything and run into his arms. Slowly it got easier. And now, while I never stopped wanting him, my desire to act was only fleeting. And it would stay that way . . . so that he could stay.

With the exception of Roderick being made a captain, the only other good thing to come out of this was that my mother and father laid off on trying to turn me into a "proper lady". I was still required to act a certain way, of course, but I was no longer forced to wear fancy dresses and put on airs. I was also allowed to carry my twin blades with me, keeping them on my back in a sheath that Rory had made me. I had also been given a mabari. Though really, I got lucky that he opted to stay with me as mabari's are not usually given, so much as they choose their owner. My father would have allowed all of this from the beginning. My mother on the other hand . . . well, I believed this was her way of making amends for taking from me the one thing I truly wanted.

Now I was heading to the main hall. Fergus had found me in my quarters and informed me that father needed me. I could tell by the look in his eye that something was not quite right. When I asked, he surprised me but informing me that he had to prepare for Ostagar. That King Cailen was calling for aid against a war that I had no idea was going on. I thought briefly of his wife and young son, Oren. Four was not old enough to understand the idea of losing his father should something happen to Fergus.

Jumping to my feet, I had wrapped my arms around my brother. Our eyes met, and he nodded and I quickly left to find my father, saying nothing to no one as I passed. I was eager to find out what was going on. Trepidation set in as I pushed open the door and found father standing with Arl Howe and a few of his guards, but it quickly vanished as I saw my father was smiling. Perhaps it was not all as bad as I thought.

"And here's my daughter!" my father said with pride as I approached. Arl Howe was watching me enter as he took a drink of his wine. His beady gaze always had made me uncomfortable but I knew better than to say anything of the sort.

"Hello Rowen," Howe said, putting his goblet down. "It's good to see you again."

"Likewise," I said with a curt nod. "And how is your family?"

"Oh, they're not too bad." He said with a smile that never quite seemed to reach his eyes. "Delilah and Nathaniel have gotten jobs in Amarathine, and . . ."

A door opening across from where we stood and a flash of red hair grabbed my attention. Roderick was walking briskly toward my father, catching my eye as he went. Why couldn't I just tell him? Why couldn't we just tell each other what was obviously still so true? I sighed. I knew why . . . .

"Rowen . . . ? Rowen?"

The voice of Arl Howe seeped into my thoughts, pulling me away from Roderick. Looking up, I saw that everyone was watching me, Roderick wearing a look of concern that he was quick to hide when my father turned to look at him. I watched as he nodded and whispered an order. Roderick nodded in return and then turned, making his way back toward the door.

"I'm sorry Arl Howe," I flushed, returning my full attention to him. "I was . . . distracted. What were you saying?"

"Oh, it's quite alright dear." He smiled taking another pull from his goblet. "I was speaking of my son Thomas. He was asking about you."

Roderick stopped in front of the door. Though his back was to us, I knew he had heard Howe's statement. My heart dropped. Was it finally going to happen? Were they going to try to marry me off? I tried smiling as I pulled my eyes away from Roderick.

"Oh yes? To what end?" I asked as casually as I could.

"To what end, she says!" Barked Howe with laughter.

"Yes, you see what I have to put up with?" My father chimed in chuckling. "To think someday . . . someone else will have to put up with it, and it will not be me alone."

This was painful. I wanted to scream at both my father and Howe to shut up. I wanted to scream that I had found someone, and he was everything I wanted but nothing I was allowed to have. I didn't want Thomas or any other suitor they might throw at me. But I remained silent. Sometimes my heart surprised even me . . . sneaking up on me with emotions I had tried hard to bury. Today it seemed to be really trying my strength. Roderick's head cocked slightly to the side and I wondered briefly if he could hear what my heart wanted to scream.

"Well perhaps we can arrange a meeting," Howe said suggestively.

A loud bang caused me to jump slightly. Roderick had finally heard enough and left. I wanted to run after him. I wanted to tell him that no one would replace him . . . but how could I when we had not yet told one another how we truly felt? I thought of the night we had spent together four years ago. That was the closest we had ever come. And our accidental kiss. I wish I had told him then, before my mother could give me the ultimatum.

"I'm sorry Arl Howe . . . but I'm not interested." I could tell from the cross look my father gave me that I would get yelled at later for that, but I wanted to leave. Needed to. "I wish you well, however, and may the Maker watch over you."

Turning on my heel, I made to leave when the door opened again and a man I had never seen before entered. His hair was dark, matching a fully grown beard that I could imagine men being jealous of. He was dressed for war. I stopped, watching him as he approached.

"Pup," my father said behind me, and I turned to see he was standing closer than I realized. He took my hands in his. "Your brother and I are preparing to leave, as I am sure you were told." I nodded, watching as the strange man came to a stop in front of us. "Once we are gone, you will be in charge of the castle until we return."

"Are you sure about this Father?" I whispered. Me? In charge? I was a noble woman. Someone they only placated when it came to my obsession with daggers and fighting. Not someone they actually felt could protect them. This didn't feel right. It was as if something bad were looming over us. "What's going on?"

"King Cailan has asked for able bodied men and women to assist in the war against the dark spawn . . . ."

"Darkspawn? Dad, I should go!" I said at once.

"We'll be fine, pup. It's your mother that really needs the watching," he said with a smile, finally turning to the man. "Duncan, this is my daughter Rowen."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady." He said with a slight bow.

"Rowen, this is Duncan. Duncan is a Warden Commander." My father said. "You have heard of the Grey Warden's I assume?"

I thought back to the lessons with Aldous. "Yes, I have heard of them. Great Warriors, right?" I hated to have to admit that I fell asleep often during Aldous' lessons, so I hoped that that would be enough. Then I remembered something else. "The Wardens show up when there is a Blight! The darkspawn . . . is that what this is? A Blight?"

"I would be lying if I said no," Duncan said, his deep voice heavy. Arl Howe snorted in his goblet, but Duncan ignored him.

"And so you're here to what? Recruit others to become Grey Warden's?" I asked.

"That is it exactly," he said eyeing me speculatively.

"I know that look," my father interjected. "And the answer is no, Duncan. King Cailen is already getting my son. I will not lose my daughter as well."

Duncan laughed. "No worries, my lord. While your daughter does have qualities we seek . . . I have already given you my promise that I will not take her."

I frowned. I wasn't sure how I felt about this. The idea of becoming a Grey Warden was exciting . . . but could I give up everything I had known? I thought of Roderick. Could I leave him to do this? I didn't think I could. It was pure torture, what I was doing myself. Refusing to leave behind a man I could not have but so desperately wanted. It mattered not, anyway. My father had already forbid it.

"So who will you recruit?" I asked.

"I am here for Ser Gilmore." Duncan said casually.

It seemed that no one noticed my heart fall to the floor and shatter. They were . . . No! I looked at my father who was watching me with sad eyes. My own eyes pleading, I tried to convey the words I could not speak. He only shook his head.

"Pup," my father said softly. "Why don't you go find your brother. You should tell him goodbye before he leaves."

I nodded and turned from the men, not really knowing what I was doing. I was only aware that I was being sent away . . . to do what? Fergus. I was supposed to say goodbye to Fergus. No! Roderick! They were finally sending him away! The past years that I thought I had hidden my true feelings . . . I had obviously not. Not if my father could look at me with those knowing eyes. I had to find him! Fergus could wait.

Dashing out the door, I asked the guard before me if he knew where his captain was. He pointed me in the general direction and I went to running. I had to find him. If he was leaving . . . then I didn't care about what my parents thought anymore. I would tell him everything I had kept hidden. I searched three more rooms before I finally found him. He had two other guards with him. When he saw me standing there, he raised his brow.

"Can I have a word in private, Ser Gilmore?" I asked nervously.

He looked really confused now. This was the first time in . . . years . . . that I had asked to be alone with him. Usually it was by accident. Turning to his men, he dismissed them. Once the door was shut, I turned to Roderick . . . and lost my resolve. How could I have been so selfish? What did I hope to accomplish by telling him anything? He would still have to go and he would only get hurt as well. No, it was much easier to continue to pretend.

I faltered standing there, picking at the bracers that he made me all those years ago. I wore them every day.

"What is it Rowen?"

I looked up to find that he was standing much closer. I could smell the steel of his breast plate. His eyes showed both concern and sadness. I looked back down at my feet. I couldn't. I just couldn't. Slowly he took my chin in his hand and lifted it, meeting my eyes. My heart raced at his touch. It was the closest we had been in . . . way too long.

"I just . . ." I began. "I wanted to say congratulations."

"For what?"

"There is a Grey Warden here. He intends to recruit you." I replied, watching for his reaction.

"Me? But . . . But that would mean that there's a . . ."

"Blight." I finished for him. "Yes. Fergus is leaving for Ostagar soon, as is my father. I am to stay and watch over the castle."

"Well that will be a piece of cake. If anyone knows how to handle themselves and others . . . it's you." It was supposed to be a compliment, but I couldn't help but to frown at his words. I didn't like the idea of staying while everyone else went to fight.

"Will you go?" I asked bluntly. "With the Warden I mean."

He watched me intently before answering. "Do I have a choice?"

"I doubt it." I said gloomily. "But . . . but if you did?"

He frowned. "Is there really a point to answering, given it won't matter anyway?"

"I . . . I guess not." I said, my heart breaking.

"What would you have me do?" He asked, his voice sounding almost desperate. "If I had the choice?"

I thought about it. I knew what I would want him to do, but it was the selfish answer. But could I really let him go? Finally I decided to evade the question like he had. "Roderick, it would not be my decision to make, therefore what I would have you do is irrelevant. But . . ." I sighed. No, I could not be selfish and it pained me to continue. "The Grey Warden's are an opportunity you may not get offered again."

With that, I turned and headed to the door. It hurt too much to stay . . . to know that I would never see him again. It hurt to have to fight the desire to fold myself into his chest.

"Rowen!" He called after me as I reached the door. I could hear his footsteps as he approached me, but kept my back turned. His soft hand on my shoulder gave me no choice however, and I turned at his slight touch; my body pressing into his. I gasped at our closeness, but he did not move back. I could not look away as he cupped my neck in his hand, his thumb stroking my jaw line as his eyes bore into my own.

"You asked what I would do if I had a choice?" he breathed, his lips only inches from my own. "I would stay."

"Roderick-" I tried to argue.

"I would stay," he cut me off insistently. "And I would continue to pretend that I'm not in love with you . . . that I haven't been in love with you from the moment you prevented my fall in that tree . . . because _that_ is much less painful than the idea of never getting to see you again."

With that, he turned and walked out the door, leaving me standing alone.

I couldn't sleep.

The rest of the day had gone by in a complete haze, as all I could think about was Roderick. I had contemplated going after him, but instead I decided to go and say my goodbyes to Fergus. I just managed to hide from mother and Lady Landra on my way. Her son Dairren was with them, and I didn't think I could handle his pathetic attempts to flirt while my mother hinted at marriage. Not today. Mother and father both arrived not long after I located Fergus. It was a sad departing masked with smiles and laughs for Oren. The only real smiles were after Oren, pretending to slay a bunny, told the darkspawn to fear his sword of truthiness.

Rolling over, I hoped for both Oriana's and Oren's sake, that Fergus came back unharmed. My father had sent Fergus ahead of him, letting him know that he would catch up later. It wasn't until they began talking about the Warden and how he and Ser Gilmore would be leaving in the morning, that I excused myself. Again, I thought about looking for him, by decided against it and went to bed instead. The idea of never seeing him again . . . my father and brother going to war . . . it was all too much. I threw my arm over my face and sighed. I should just give up on the idea of sleeping. It wasn't going to happen. I thought of Roderick. His arms . . . his body pressed against mine . . . his lips so close to my own . . . and his willingness to say what I could not. Why had I not stopped him?

I rolled over onto my stomach and then onto my side. There was no getting comfortable. I threw my pillow over my face, wanting to scream into it but I refrained.

"Rowen?"

The voice was so softly spoken, I almost missed it. Sitting up quickly, I watched as the light from the hall was extinguished as my door closed. I could see his shadow moving toward my bed, my heart racing the closer he got. I would know that voice anywhere. I sat there, unable to move as he came closer. I felt the shift of my bed as his weight was added to it. He had never been in my room before. My breathing was nearly nonexistent. It wasn't until I felt his hand on mine that everything that I had ever kept in . . . the years of pretending . . . the lying . . . all of it . . . broke.

"Roderick," I breathed, throwing my arms around him. I did not care anymore that it was forbidden, or that my mother would die if she were to walk in right now. The fact that I wore naught but my small clothes didn't bother me either. He was leaving tomorrow. I would get my goodbye. My aggressiveness was all he needed.

He was kissing my face and my neck. In moments our lips found one another and I reveled in the kiss that I had waited years to get. His lips, his tongue . . .

My head touched the pillow, but I never let go of him as he laid over me, his hand exploring the curve of my stomach and the bend of my legs. My own fingers fumbled nervously with the laces of his leathers. Our lips never parted; too hungry to let go of what they had been denied for too long. I slipped the leather vest off his shoulders and ran my hand up his shirt, feeling the scars that littered his chest. He moaned softly at my touch.

"Rowen," he whispered again, but I pressed my mouth hard against his and he said no more.

I needed him as he needed me. I pressed my body upward into him as he cupped my bosom in his strong hands. I moaned at his touch. Tugging and pulling on his shirt, I managed to get it over his head and tossed it to the side. He watched me, his eye lingering on my body beneath him. Reaching up, I stroked his jaw with my finger.

"I love you," I whispered. It felt amazing finally getting to say it. By the moonlight coming from the window, I could see the smile on his face.

"I love you too," he said in reply, bringing his lips softly to mine. "I could not leave . . . not without . . . not without you knowing."

"I always knew Roderick." I breathed between kisses. "Just as I'm sure you knew that I loved you."

"I hated pretending . . ." He had moved on to my neck. "But your father, he would have sent me away had I not. It was so hard . . . especially when it seemed that I had hurt you by trying to get away from you. I . . . I tried to keep myself busy . . ."

I took his face in my hands. "Oh Roderick," I wanted to cry. "I had no idea! I was told the same thing by my mother! That they would send you away if I could not put aside my feelings for you! So many times I had nearly failed. I was secretly grateful for your busy shifts. But I had no other choice. You going away was simply . . . not an option. Pretending to not love you . . . it was much less painful than the idea of you being sent away. So many times I feared I was being selfish."

His lips found mine again. "No, never."

I had never been with a man before, so it would be a lie to say I wasn't nervous. But here with Roderick, my best friend and now lover . . . it was right. He was gentle with me - kissing my lips to distract from the pain as he pushed through my maidenhood, and kissing my eyes as I let out a short involuntary gasp at the feel of him inside me. I held fast to him as I reveled in both the sweet pleasure and tenderness of us discovering one another. The pain itself was thankfully short lived and soon I was grabbing him; begging for more . . . begging him to hold me tighter. Our rhythm matched in intensity, our bodies creating no space as we fulfilled our hunger and desire for each other. Without warning, a feeling so strong swept through my body; numbing my fingers and tingling my toes. I arched my back as a cry of ecstasy left my lips. He swiftly snaked his arm under me, supporting my weight as I buried my face in his shoulder, whimpering at the intensely pleasurable sensation. I didn't want it to go away.

I didn't want him to go away.

Panting, he laid me gently back on the pillow. I could taste the salt from his sweat as he kissed me. I held his face, refusing to let his lips leave mine right away and he was more than willing to oblige. When we finally broke apart, he rolled onto his side.

"You have to go now, don't you." It was not a question, for I knew the answer. I stared up at the wooden beams of my ceiling. A part of me knew that this would have a bitter sweet ending the moment he walked into my room. This really was our goodbye.

"I love you Rowen . . . I will always love you." He said as a reply.

I nodded, fighting back the tears. Turning to look at him, I could see the pain on his face. This was just as hard for him.

"I love you too Roderick." I said, kissing his chin. "I am glad we got a . . . _proper_ goodbye though. I don't think I could have woken up tomorrow without having ever said goodbye. Without ever having . . . kissed your lips, or felt your touch." I ran my hand along his chest.

"I am only sorry that it had to come when I was leaving." He whispered, kissing my forehead. "That I had to sneak in like a bandit in the night . . . that . . . that I can't stay."

"Better you being a bandit in the night, than not coming at all." I breathed.

"You make it impossible to leave." He laughed, but I knew he was hurting. Just as I was.

But I knew what he said was true. We would have to end this soon if he were going to leave my bed. I sighed. "You should go."

He frowned.

"Before this gets any more difficult," I whispered.

Understanding, he sat up and began dressing himself. I watched him, the moonlight dancing off his body. This was how I would remember him. I grinned at him, I couldn't help it. Even though I would not see him again, we had finally defied my parents and did what they both feared: Professed our love. Soon he was smiling too. Bending down, he kissed me.

The booming sound of a cannon broke us apart.

"What was . . . ?" I cried, jumping to my feet.

"I don't know . . ." Roderick ran to the door and peered out of it. "I don't see anything."

Shutting the door, he turned as I grabbed my own leathers. "Rowen, no!" He said firmly. "You need to wait here. I will come back." Walking forward quickly he kissed me roughly before disappearing out the door, shutting it behind him.

I was torn between listening, and running out there. Instead, I finished getting dressed, slipping my sheaths on my back and placing my twin blades through them. I was listening for a sound . . . anything, but it seemed to have gone quiet. A little too quiet.

Wait . . . what was that?

Pressing my ear to the door, I was startled by the sound of my mabari barking on the other side. Stupid dog! Stupid me for being so jumpy! Pulling open the door to let the dog in, I gasped. His muzzle was soaked with blood.

"Loki!" I cried, dropping to my knees to examine him. I couldn't see any marks on him, no lesions . . . which meant . . . this was not his blood. Loki barked again, and then turned issuing a low guttural growl and leaped out the door. A cry from outside sounded.

"Bloody mutt!"

Running out, I saw three men entering our main quarter hall. "Look!" one of the men shouted pointing at me. "There's one of those Cousland's now! Kill her!"

The man who had spoken lunged forward but was knocked sideways by Loki, who locked his jaws around the man's throat, cutting off his scream. I watched in horror as the man's flailing slowly died out, before turning back to the other two men who were still distracted by their dying comrade. They were not here to talk. They were here to kill. But who were they? Looking past them, I saw the room in which they had come from . . . Oriana and Oren's! Were they alive? Somehow I knew the answer to that question, and I bit back on my sorrow as my blood began to boil with rage.

All the training and practicing I had done flashed through my mind, and I knew exactly what to do. They wanted to fight to the death? Then they would die. The distraction Loki had caused was all I needed. Pulling my blades quickly from their sheaths, they burst into flames as I lunged forward with them. With a sweeping arc I decapitated one of the men, his shield and sword falling to the floor before he did, and then turned just in time to block the other mans sword and slip my blade between his ribs, setting his armor ablaze. Stepping back from the bodies, I looked around. Loki came trotting over, licking his chops.

"Good boy," I whispered. He barked happily.

"Rowen!" Turning, I saw my mother running toward me. "What's going on? I heard shouting!" Seeing the men on the ground she stopped and screamed. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine mother," I said, watching her closely. I didn't want her going into shock. "Don't look."

"Dear Maker," she whispered, moving closer to the decapitated man.

"Mother," I placed my hand gently on her shoulder, stopping her. She turned to me, her eyes wide, shaking her head.

"Don't you see?" She asked hysterically, pointing to the decapitated man. "Their shields!" Looking past her, I found the shield she spoke of. The crest on it was bloody, but somehow familiar. "That's Howe's crest! These are Howe's men!" she cried.

"But that makes no sense . . ." I said slowly, trying to comprehend how and why Howe - who was my father's friend - would attack us. Father! I turned, eyes wide to my mother. "Where's father?" I asked frantically.

"I . . . I don't know. He never came to bed." She stuttered, terrified. "Oh Rowen . . . you don't think . . ." she stopped herself from saying what we were both thinking.

"Come on, we need to find him." I said. "Loki!" I shouted as I moved forward quickly, placing the daggers back in their sheaths, extinguishing the flames - something I had learned to do not long after that horrible night four years ago. Loki quickly abandoned the corpse he was sniffing at to join me. My mother stood, unsure of what to do, before following behind me. I watched her briefly, before stalking quickly back to the dead man and pulling a knife from his armor. I handed it to my mother. "Just in case."

"Wait!" She said as I walked out the door. "What of Oriana and Oren?"

I shook my head, my meaning unmistakably clear. I bit back my tears as her face crumpled, a cry of pain exiting her lips. Wrapping my arms around her, I pulled her out the door with me. Her sorrow was understandable. Oren was only four! He had his whole life ahead of him! The thought of him sent the familiar anger running through my veins.

"What of Fergus," my mother cried. "What will we tell him?"

I refrained from saying that we would be lucky if he was alive. The sound of feet pounding against the cobbled stone sounded before us, and I unsheathed my blades, setting them ablaze once more. My mother backed herself against the wall. I saw the shield before the man, and it was lucky I had. The crest was our own.

"My lady!" the guard yelled when he saw me. He was followed by three more of our men. "We were just coming for you! We have to get you out of here! The castle is under attack!"

"You think?" I asked sarcastically. "Where's my father? Have you seen him?"

"I have not," The guard replied. "Ser Gilmore sent us to find you and help you find a way out of the castle."

"Roderick? Where is he?" I asked, panicked. The guards looked at each other, but did not answer. I had a bad feeling. If something happened . . . NO! I would not . . . could not . . . think of it. I needed to find him and father, and then get out. Turning to my mother, I bit my lip.

"No." she said stubbornly.

"Mother," I pleaded.

"No Rowen! Out of the question!" She insisted. "I will not leave you."

Turning to the guards, I sighed. "This afternoon, my father put me in charge of the castle. Have you heard of this?"

The guards cast glances at one another quickly before answering, "Yes, my lady."

"Good." Taking a step forward, I spoke quickly. "In the larder, near the back you will find a trap door leading into a long forgotten and unused servant's passage. It leads out of the castle. I want you to take my mother there. I want you to get her out of the castle, and I want you to go for help. Am I understood?"

"Yes." They said, though the looks on their faces showed that they clearly did not like my orders. "What about you?"

"I will be fine." I stated, before turning to Loki. "Go with them. Protect mother."

Loki barked.

If I had thought that the guards had not liked my plan, my mother definitely did not. She screamed and kicked as the guards took her and marched her away. I wanted to call out to her that she would understand and that I loved her. Instead I yelled promises of finding father. Placing my daggers back in my sheaths, I decided to take to the shadows. It would be easier to get past a group of them unseen rather than fighting my way through.

While it worked for the most part, it didn't work every time. There were a few times I had to sneak up behind an unsuspecting man and slit his throat, while other times, I had to block them from stabbing me after I had been discovered. Slowly I made my way to the main hall. My father had spoke of returning there to speak more with Duncan after we had said our goodbyes, so I figured it was as good a place to start as any. The closer I got, however, the heavier the air got. I could smell the burning trees and more than once had to turn around after finding my way blocked from fallen stone. I received a shock, however when I finally made it to one of the side doors and threw it open.

"Bar the doors!" Roderick shouted as he ran his blade through one of Howe's men. The banging was loud as men on the outside tried to break through the large double doors.

Unseen by Roderick, I scanned the room quickly for my father but did not see him here. I turned back toward Roderick just in time to see a man sneaking up behind him with his knife drawn.

"No!" Running forward, I slammed my blade up through the man's chin and out the top of his skull. He dropped to the ground instantly, his head making a sickening squishing sound as I dislodged my dagger from it. Looking around, I saw that the last ones standing were our own men. The fighting had stopped for now.

"Rowen!" Roderick yelled, having heard the commotion behind him. Closing the short gap between us, he grabbed my arm and walked me toward the back of the room and toward another door. "Rowen, what are you doing here? You were supposed to leave with the guards!" He shouted. He had never shouted at me before.

I jerked out of his grasp. "I have to find my father . . . and . . . and you."

He ran his hand roughly through his hair. "I sent your father to that old passage that you took me to. I told him that I would send you and your mother there as well. You need to go!"

"Okay, great!" I shouted above the banging of the door. "Let's go!"

His face fell. I could feel my chest restricting as he looked at me, his head shaking with sorrow. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he pulled me into his chest, his lips against my ear. "Please don't make this hard," he whispered. "Please . . . go."

I shook my head. "Not without you."

"I can't go Rowen." He sighed, burying his face in my hair. "You know that."

"And I can't leave you here!" I yelled pushing him away from me. I was crying now, angry with him for suggesting I leave him behind. I couldn't . . . I wouldn't!

"Rowen you have too!" he yelled as the door creaked against the pounding from the men trying to get in and the men trying to hold it shut. "Please," he begged. "Please."

Reaching forward, he stroked my face with his fingers, and I shook my head again, the tears pouring in torrents down my cheeks. His begging broke my heart, but . . . I couldn't leave him. He must know that! He pulled me into his embrace once more, and I held tightly to him, wishing I was strong enough to drag him out of here.

"I have to know that you are safe," he whispered. "I can't live without knowing that."

"And what of me?" I begged. "I would die if something happened to you!"

"Oh Rowen," he sighed.

"I will not leave your side," I insisted stubbornly.

A voice behind us forced us both to look up. Duncan was approaching us. "The door will not hold, my lady. You must leave."

I felt as Roderick took a deep breath. "Duncan," he said. "Duncan you must take her. You must keep her safe. I will stay and hold them off as long as I can. You should find her parents in an old servant's passage in the larder."

Pulling away from Roderick I peered into his face; anger and hurt stabbing at me like knives. "I won't go!" I shouted through my tears.

Roderick's face crumpled as he looked at me causing me even more pain, he reached for me, But I slapped his hand away, angry with him for suggesting such a thing to Duncan. Closing his eyes, he nodded and Duncan's hands wrapped around my wrist in a vice like grip.

"No!" I cried, trying to pull my wrist away from Duncan. "NO! RODERICK!" I screamed, flailing as Duncan struggled to keep a hold of me, walking me toward the door. With a quick turn, I shoved the palm of my hand up into Duncan's nose, breaking it. Crying out, his grip loosened just enough that I was able to pull away from him and run back to Roderick. Slamming into his body, his arms folded around me and lifted me off the ground as our lips met with a wild ferocity.

"The doors coming down Captain!" A guard yelled.

Roderick set me down quickly and Duncan once again grabbed me, this time throwing me over his shoulder. I tried fighting again, but I knew it would be no use. I screamed Roderick's name, but the banging was so loud, I doubted he could hear me over it. No. Please Maker, no! Don't make me leave him . . . please. I watched as his lips mouthed the words I longed for him to hear me say, and I mouthed them back, reaching my arms out for him.

"Please," I whispered.

Duncan threw open the back door just as the main entrance was reduced to splinters. The last thing I saw was Roderick turning with his sword drawn.

I didn't know what to do. I hung limply over his shoulder as a numbness crept through my body. We didn't run into anymore of Howe's men so Duncan didn't set me down until we were right outside the larder. The fight had gone out of me. Not that it mattered. I knew that nothing worse could happen. How wrong I was . . . .

As we walked through the door, I saw them first. It didn't register right away though. Duncan sighed sadly behind me, and it all suddenly came into vivid focus. Loki was lying next to my father, who was covered in blood - his head resting on my mother's lap. She was crying.

"Father!" I cried running forward. My mother looked up, her eyes red with grief. "Mother . . . the guards?" She pointed behind me and I saw the three men in a bloody huddle on the stained stone floor.

My father coughed, and his bloodied hand reached forward to caress my face. I placed my hand over his. "I'm so sorry," I said looking at my mother. "I should have stayed with you . . . I could have helped! I could have . . ."

"Shush darling." She said reaching for my free hand. "You could have very well gotten yourself killed too. There were just . . . so many of them. The guards tried their best to protect us . . . but they just . . . couldn't. They left us all for dead."

I looked at my dog, who raised his eyes to meet mine. "His leg is broken," my mother answered my unspoken question. He was knocked out for awhile too, but I think he'll survive."

"And you?" I asked. "How did you escape unscathed?"

"I . . . I didn't." slowly she lifted a sodden wool sack that I had failed to notice before. She winced with pain, and I gasped. She had been ran through, the sword having excited from her back.

"Oh mother," I cried leaning forward and embracing her. All the fights and disagreements, all the anger and pain, they all hit me like a ton of bricks. Through them all, never had I imagined having to live without her though. I had taken it for granted that she would always be around. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wish I could have been the daughter you wanted me to be. I wish . . ."

"Shhh," she whispered. "You never, not once disappointed me. You always followed your heart, and that is an admiral thing. I am only sorry I could not have been a better mother. That I did not embrace who you were and what you wanted like a mother should."

"Mom," I whispered pleadingly, but she placed a finger over my lips.

"I just . . . I just hope you got to say goodbye to him." She breathed through clinched teeth. "Did you?"

I nodded, fresh tears falling down the already lain paths on my cheeks. My mother smiled.

"That makes me . . . happy." Her breath was growing weaker still.

I broke down.

"Duncan," my father's whisper was barely audible, but Duncan came and kneeled next to me.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Take her from here." My father croaked. "Keep her safe."

Duncan nodded as he wiped his hand across his nose, wincing. "I will try," he said. "But in return, I must ask to be released from the promise I once made you."

"Keep her safe, and I will release you. She . . . she will do well," my father breathed. Turning to me he grimaced. "Howe . . . he can't . . ."

"He won't father! That is a promise! I will track down Howe myself." I vowed.

"And your brother," he coughed, blood spilling down his chin. "He must be found. He has to know."

I nodded again through my tears. "I will father."

"I love you, pup." He said. "You are grown now. Live."

"And never stop listening to your heart," my mother whispered. "Not ever."

"I love you both so much!" Leaning forward I embraced my parents as a wail of anguished escaped my lips. I was vaguely aware of Duncan pulling me up, and barely registered as he picked up Loki, carrying him on his shoulders.

Once in the passageway, we had barely made it past the bed that Roderick and I had slept on when exhaustion and grief took me. "I . . . I can't." I cried as I fell forward. Despair was swallowing me, and I knew that I would once again fail. Only this time, I would fail the vow I had made to my father.

"You can," Duncan said, gripping me just above my shoulder and lifting me to my feet. "You can and you must. We don't have much time."

With his help, we made it toward the end of the passage where a new day was just breaking over the horizon.

* * *

_**(A/N) **I had written these first three chapters a while back. It was only a matter of having to wait the two days that makes you wait as a new member to post. This means that the next chapter may take a couple days, as I havent started it yet. But I hope you like what I have so far! I would love some feedback! I would also like to apologize in advanced if you ever come across a word missing an M or an O. My son ripped the letters off my keyboard, and now they wont work without me pressing really hard on them. I had to go back several times during writing, lol. Anyway thanks for reading! _


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